


Firefly in the Skye

by Osmee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, I guess this is a crackfic, general silliness all around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:57:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osmee/pseuds/Osmee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Skye goes missing, Coulson seizes an opportunity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firefly in the Skye

Ward paced nervously, glancing at the noisy old cuckoo clock that graced the otherwise bare office wall. He was supposed to meet Skye fifteen minutes ago, and now the long and the short hand were nearing midnight.

Perhaps he had failed her as her S.O. Perhaps Agent May had been right all along. The girl hadn’t been ready. He should have said something. But when Skye insisted, Coulson had smiled indulgently and sent her over to Fitzsimmons for gear. They dropped her off and agreed to rendezvous in two weeks.

And now, two weeks later, she was missing. No, she was just late. Thinking of May and her taichi, Ward took some unnecessarily deep breaths and willed himself to remain calm.

TWUOOWHOOOO! TWUOOWHOOO!

A dainty wooden bird popped out of nowhere and bellowed like a bullfrog, sending him a foot in the air. Then his heart fell when he saw the note wedged into the bird’s beak. It was a ransom note.

“She’s been captured,” Ward hissed grimly into his comlink, speeding back to the plane. “They’ve got her.”

Coulson’s calm voice floated in his ear. The man sounded hesitant, almost incredulous. “They’ve taken Skye?”

“They’ve taken our Skye?” Simmon voice echoed in concern.

“Then we’d best send our kidnappers a little message,” Coulson said, briskly, after a pause. “May, initiate protocol 03-K64.”

“You’ve clearly been waiting for this moment a long time, haven’t you?” May’s irate voice traveled over the comm.

"You're on, sir," said Jemma uncertainly, just before a acoustic guitar started to play.

 

_Take my love, take my land_

_Take me where I cannot stand_

“Sir, are you singing?” Ward gaped.

 

_I don’t care, I’m still free_

_You can’t take my Skye from me._

“Is that Fitz on the fiddle?”

 

_Take me out to the black_

_Tell them I ain't comin' back_

_Burn the land and boil the sea_

_You can't take my Skye from me_

_There's no place I can be_

_Since I died in Tahiti_

_But you can't take my Skye from me..._

“End transmission.”


End file.
